Grafitti Artist After His Own Rebel Heart
by Slittlej
Summary: Ezra has many issues. One of them being 'the thing' he has for Sabine. Will she ever feel the same 'thing' for him? Time may tell... Please review
1. Chapter 1

Glaring at his reflection in the mirror, tucked away in the crawlspace, Ezra muttered all guttural, "Could scar." Fussing, he continued, "I hate scars." Gingerly, he fingered the jagged edges around the sizeable gash he'd received less than a week ago at the hands of a stroppy stormtrooper. He rolled his eyes, clenching his swollen jaw, glowering. "Right across the cheek. Any higher, might have cost me my eye." Vanity aside, he might have wound up one-eyed that day, keeping the guy who so often saved the day, Kanan, from harm's way. That pregnant girl, who had appeared to be no older than Ezra, owed the trusty Jedi her life and the life of her unborn child. "If I have to be scarred, I'd prefer it to be someplace else. Not my face…" He stared at himself harder, trying to visualize the raised, discolored flesh mar his looks. He turned away from the mirror in disgust.

"It won't be that bad."

Ezra jumped, then practically barreled into Sabine, who, caught somewhat off-guard, regarded him then with knowing eyes. Taking a few steps back, she looked him squarely in his sullen face. With her hands affixed squarely at her hips, she refrained from chiding him further. Narrowing his eyes, Ezra spat, "Yeah, right."

"No really. It won't. Give it a few months, you'll hardly be able to tell. Like it's a scratch."

It wasn't what he wanted to hear; she was patronizing him. As she often did, seeing him as just some rangy, self-centered, shortsighted kid. His pouting wasn't doing much for selling his maturity to her. Yes, he had a thing for the spunky weapons expert from Mandalore. But if Wren had an inkling of just how much, she downplayed his one-track mind every chance she got. She liked the kid, but purely in a platonic vein. At least she kept telling herself that. Ezra had a way with the Force and a rough and tumble way with charm. The kid had moxie and he used it to his advantage.

He wasn't that much younger than she. Guys from the streets always seemed older. This one had had to grow up on his own, having lost his parents early in life.

Sabine was way too young to be a 'cougar.'

"It's too deep to be just a scratch," Ezra complained sourly, not wanting her seeing him like this. She smiled at him, and his heart fluttered. He loved her, and her passion. It galled him, not being bold enough to come right out and tell her all that he felt for her. She'd probably give him several pats on his back, telling him to 'suck it up.'

Words were tumbling from her lips until she put an abrupt halt to them—"Nothing could mar that cute, handsom—" Ezra eyed her closely, keenly aware of a slew of emotions glimmering on her face. She backed away several more steps, as though he had plague, horrified, all set to turn her back on him. She had no intention of giving him any wrong ideas. Why did they usually stand a shade too close together? Suddenly, her legs were shaky; like strong bones had become jelly. Sabine sighed, the thought running through her mind why was she being such a 'borgeest?' The impulsive creatures, who lived like gaseous silhouettes on the wind, drifting through the rolling plains of Boral? After taking a deep breath, she began again, sounding as though she'd cut her tongue on her teeth. "How do you feel about graffiti?"

Ezra blinked in surprise. Here he was, a maimed man, and Sabine sounded as though being disfigured meant nothing at all. His new nickname would be Scarface. He so didn't want to be called that, not by her, not by anyone. He titled his head to the side, angling the blemish away from her. He decided to humor her. "I like yours."

"I was hoping you'd say that." Satisfaction suffused the radiance of her beautiful face. She jutted her hip at him as though in challenge. "I've got an idea." Her demeanor suggested that he follow.

"Like?" Ezra countered, without a clue what she was driving at. Not having to be told, he tagged along.

"Speeding up the healing process for your lesion while making it appear less unsightly."

"How?"

"I'll show you how. Keep following…"

"How?" he persisted, unaware that they had an unseen audience.

Zeb was holed up overhead in a storage compartment, keeping well out of sight. Chuckling, relishing all that he'd heard thus far, he muttered in amusement, "The kid's her sappy-eyed puppet. Whatever she says, he believes. Never one word of protest from him. If I were her, I'd work it to my _advantage_." Painstakingly he fought the urge to jump down and scare the Force out of the Sabine-crazy dunderhead. He decided to save the prank for another time instead. Ezra was Force-sensitive, and Kanan was training him in the ways of the Jedi, but that didn't mean he couldn't get the jump on him to take him completely by surprise. Something that would involve venting panel insulation and smelly jlole cheese. Meaningful fun like that was too hard to pass up.

Chopper too, keeping out of sight, monitored them as they passed. His soft 'clurps' were inaudible. Waiting a bit, the droid proceeded to bring up the rear, all the way to Sabine's quarters. Of all the crew, Ezra seemed closest to the pragmatic, shapely young rebel. The nosy droid made it as far as the door, which banged shut tightly before its boxy face. More crackly-sounding electronic gripes flowed from the disgruntled machine. It hated being left out of the loop.

Once inside her colorful quarters, Sabine got right to work. Quickly getting her hands on the medicinal cream, she ordered Ezra to seat himself, which he did immediately. Zeb would have gloated seeing him do so. Ezra was so sure that her cream would smell horrible, but surprisingly, it smelled quite the opposite. Its aroma was soothing, filling his nostrils with the delightful, delicate fragrance of fresh-picked yogans.

"This stuff will prevent me getting a scar?" Ezra prompted, penetrating her eyes with his that probed.

"Uh huh. It should." Sabine frowned a fraction, pouring her soul into her task. This needed to be done just right. She took pride in her handiwork, always did, no matter where she placed it. Scrawled across the side of a TIE-fighter, or even this young warrior's squirming face. Ezra squirmed too much for her liking, so she told him to hold still for the umpteenth time. She gave his chin in her hand another firm squeeze. "Hold still!"

"Yeah. All right." It was easier said than done. Having her so close like this was unfamiliar and ticklish, despite its being very, very nice. Even nicer than any dream he'd had about her to date. She genuinely seemed to care about him. At this moment in time, what more could he ask for? She giving him her full attention.

Ezra calmed, his fidgeting ceased as he gazed thoughtfully at Sabine. Was she almost done with attending to him? He felt her concern with every stroke of application. She'd started using another cream. The first one had been a bright blue; this one she used now reminded him of a sunset on his homeworld. He had the feeling that she was using his countenance as a canvas, blending the hues together as she both treated and created a work of aesthetics upon his skin.

"Have a look," she invited, handing him a small hand mirror for his inspection. She exuded pride, never apologetic for her displays.

Ezra took up what she proffered, looked; a small gasp escaped him. Just as he'd suspected, Sabine's handiwork was plainly on his face. What she'd done was nothing short of amazing. "This is great, Sabine. Simply great!" He toyed with the idea of self-inflicting another wound on his other cheek for her to repeat the process. Wait—what? No. He could just ask her to do the honors with more of her signature graffiti, without having to injure himself.

Sabine frowned momentarily, not sure if she was thoroughly pleased with how the B in his last name had come out. The E, for Ezra, had turned out just as she wanted it. "When the wound healing finishes up, the cream will disappear. There'll be no trace of cut, nor color."

"Sabine?"

"Yes?"

Sort of holding his breath, he exhaled in one whoosh. "Do my other side?" He craned his neck, offering his unmarred facial side like a trophy. "Make it rebel-worthy. You know. Something like…Rebels Rule. The Empire's Run By Fools." He shrugged, feeling then that his off-the-cuff epithet fell short of her expectation.

"That's a lot for your small cheek, but I'll try." Setting her mind and heart to it, Sabine went to work. She thought to add, "Not to worry. The cream's safe for undamaged skin. It's more like a facial."

Ezra closed his eyes, losing himself in her delicate touch, and held as still as stone. He'd be her willing canvas anytime. She was so good.


	2. Chapter 2

Ezra, hadn't taken an instant dislike to Lando Calrissian; the hard feelings had come later. With his sly manner, perfectly coiffured thick, dark hair and smooth manner, Calrissian had worked his cloying charm, trying to suck Sabine in. Bile rose unbidden in Ezra. The gambler's broad shoulders, and deep voice sparked another frisson of jealousy. Ezra never wanted to see him again. Or, to be more precise, he never wanted the scoundrel setting his eyes on Sabine ever again. Smiling so seductively in her face. He'd been so glib, plying her with his silky compliments, praising her artwork. His touting how 'gifted, inspiring,' and 'resourceful' she was had left a bad taste in Ezra. At one point, Ezra had thought that Lando's tongue might actually fall out, scurry to Sabine and literally pat her on the back. The green-eyed monster blazed in Ezra's sad eyes.

Hopping off his bunk, the orphan positioned himself smack in front of the same mirror he'd been inspecting himself in for several weeks now. The cream she'd given him—wow. It had worked, exactly the way she had said it would. And so fast, too. No hint of damage spoiled his face. Not a trace, as though the stormtrooper had never mercilessly ripped into his skin with his energized glove. Ezra traced the healed flesh, not as gingerly as he'd done while healing had progressed, with his fingertips. Still awed, he marveled how Sabine's freaky cream had certainly done the trick! He'd never understand how if he lived to be 200. He relished having had Sabine so close to his face when she applied the cream. He wondered, coming to the conclusion that now since he had healed, the end of her using his face as her canvas was sure to follow. Logically, she'd have no reason to continue the routine. She'd humored him, he understood. Toying with the idea that had a way of staying with him, maybe self-mutilation was the way to go to keep her attention on him where it belonged.

The more he thought about taking a sharp object to his left cheek, the more he realized he was thinking crazy. In a twinkling, he was sifting these tight quarters for anything razor-pointy. A cold, clammy pain tugged at his heart. Look at what he was resorting to…

"Ezra!"

Jarred from his sullen reverie, the teenage Lothal rebel juddered to a halt. As though caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing. "Yeah?" Ezra growled, clearly annoyed because Kanan had messed up his dismal search. His master sounded touchy. He often came across that way, like everything got under his skin.

"Another training session. Usual place. Get here now."

Rolling his eyes, Ezra got moving. Defacing his face would have to wait. Training was important. If he hoped to impress Sabine in any way imaginable, he needed to distinguish himself as a Jedi. Awareness that showing off went against the Jedi code rippled through him. He shrugged it off. Whatever it took. The memory of how brightly her eyes had lit up as she'd hung on every word Lando had spoken played before his glowering countenance. The man had womanizer written all over him.

"Ezra!"

"Coming, Master," he fired back, snatching up his one-of-a-kind stylized lightsaber and rushed out of his quarters as though the Emperor himself were on his tail. The sharpness in Kanan's voice might have taken down a Bantha. Ezra ran faster.

"There isn't much time," Kanan reminded him.

"I know. I know." Whatever awaited them on Mudraya would likely call for Ezra being at his best. His skill was increasing; he merely lacked sufficient confidence to let go, wholly surrendering himself to the Force. Trusting it unreservedly. But never succumbing to the impure Dark Side. He needed to be more like Kanan, who was a versatile master, but getting all of it right was hard. Ezra reproached himself for lacking proper discipline, but his master was all too ready and willing to help him attain the requisite self-control.

"You need all the practice you can get," Kanan counseled, his voice spreading about Ezra like netting. "Time's a wasting. You've much too much to learn, still."

"I'm on my way," Ezra claimed, picking up more speed as he sped.

So far, some practice sessions had been better than others. Right now, Ezra's mind was on winning Sabine. What did he need to practice in order to succeed with that? Maybe he should have paid more attention to Lando's wheedling 'rap.' If sugary-sweet fawning was what she wanted, he'd give it to her. At least he would try.

Nipping at the back of his mind was Yoda's beloved principle, forever reminding him: 'Do, or do not. There is no try…'

The little green clawed one's motto tended to dampen the kid's spirits instead of bolstering them. Yoda, the Jedi Master nonpareil, knew precisely how to put goals out there. How one reached said goals was purely subjective. Bridger was determined to use everything he'd learned from the streets coupled with what Kanan was teaching him about the Force, to put a big crimp in the Empire's style of ruthless rule. And, hopefully, win Sabine's heart in the process.

Moving akin to light-speed, Ezra blindly rounded a corner. The insides of Hera's ship seemed to be a labyrinth in disguise, what with its narrow twisting and turning corridors. In less than a second too late to be fully aware of what was happening, he slammed into Sabine, broadside. As resilient as the pert Mandalorian was, Wren was more surprised than hurt. Partially bowled over to the deck, she sprang right back up from a crouch. She wasn't ready to do battle, but her eyes had a bellicose twinkle in them. Expertly, they alighted on Ezra, holding his aghast face intently. His facial expression conveyed horror. The very person who meant the galaxy to him he'd nearly flattened into pulp.

"What's your hurry?"

Sounding out of breath and widening his eyes, Ezra replied, "Kanan's waiting for me."

"More practice?" Sabine asked knowingly.

"Yeah. He wants me seriously ready for whatever we'll face on Mudraya. I want to be ready. I can't let him down." Ezra weighed whether he should add, 'I can't let _you_ down.' All of them, Kanan, Hera, Zeb, even Chopper, had become his family. He didn't want to disappoint any of them. Why was he tongue-tied all of a sudden? His tongue, as though endowed with a will of its own, prevented him from tipping the emotion in his heart. He felt he was unraveling. "I, I…" No; the words wouldn't come.

Sensing his hesitation, Sabine did something he never saw coming. She said something too. Plucking his lightsaber from his hand, she put him on notice. "I like what you've done with your energy blade's handgrip. But…well." She looked directly into her avid admirer's spellbound eyes, dead-set about what she wanted. Ezra, growing hotter under the collar by the second, was melting in his clothes. If he had wanted to say anything, he certainly couldn't utter a syllable now. Confusion suffused his face. "This fancy haft cries out for embellishment," Sabine coquettishly cajoled. She rolled her scintillating eyes and it was priceless. A holdover she'd picked up from Lando, perhaps?

"It does?" Ezra blinked as though he'd just woken up. "Embellishment?" It was hard hearing over the deafening, savage pounding of his doting heart.

Sabine grinned. _This kid_… He often got so lost in his own aggressive fog sometimes. She was glad he'd decided to join them. There was something about this intense young man. Something he possessed, which she couldn't name presently. And no, it wasn't because he was Force-sensitive, diligently applying himself to learn its ways. Would she allow herself to get to know him better? Maybe. She'd see.

Of course Ezra knew what _embellishment_ meant. He wasn't backwards, nor feeble-minded. Sabine had purposely made the context ambiguous. Not mincing words, she clarified what she was getting at. "May I—"

"Yes!" Ezra spate so fast, he flushed. Whatever she wanted was a good idea. How could it not be? This was Sabine.

"You have no idea what I want," she goaded, testing him, bewildering him with her sirenic lips.

When he was able to snap back to reality, he thought…_True enough. _He sighed inaudibly._ Give me the chance to find out_, he whispered to himself, astounded that they were having this conversation. He felt Kanan being a heartbeat away from giving up on him this day. If Ezra's heart was set on being a no-show, so be it. Kanan would be a no-way for practice today, if that's how the kid wanted it.

If this exchange with Sabine trumped the training session, then it was what it was. He'd have such a stern talk with Ezra tomorrow, the kid would never ditch another session ever again…

"Tell me what you want then?" Ezra prompted, leading her gently.

Hefting his lightsaber between both her hands, she demanded: "My artwork on your Jedi handicraft. To symbolize where you've been—and what you're destined to become."

In no seconds flat, Ezra's answer resounded throughout the _Ghost_.

"**YES**!"

"Now you've kept Kanan waiting long enough, by his grunts of complaint, echoing all through the ship."

"When? When do you want to start?" Bridger sounded like a little kid waiting on a parent's permission.

"Right away. After practice?"

Ezra watched her return his lightsaber, mesmerized. Nodding hard as he sprinted away, he reiterated with his eyes still fully on her, "**YES**!"

"Watch where you're going!" Primly, Sabine regarded him streaking off; a subtle smile playing on her lips. "Heartbreaker," she mumbled, already formulating the design, the textures and hues she planned to use. What she had in mind would be her greatest artisanship yet. Lovingly done...

For Ezra.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hoping for something better_, or words to that effect. That was how Hera had eloquently put it as she'd gazed upward longingly at the stars. It had been a touching, quiet moment she and Ezra had shared while sitting on her ship's lowered ramp following the fiasco involving Gall Trayvis. The senator was a spy, in stark actuality. His betrayal had come as a shock, and had left the crew reeling. None of them would be so quick to trust _anyone_ from here on out.

Hera was truly wise, a strong, decisive purposeful Twi'lik female. The heart of the group, she knew what it took to keep her team together when they might have otherwise fallen apart. Never in a million years had Ezra given a thought to r & r being granted with this bunch. They were all about anti-Empire activity, practically non-stop. So when Hera declared a day ago that they were heading for the outer-rim world, Arnow XI, a lush, tropical world of palpable beauty, Ezra thought he hadn't heard right. Perhaps the announcement might have been part and parcel of another of his aberrant dreams. Not true, though. Hera, attuned to and mindful of the needs of her crew, knew that a bit of tranquility, coupled with fun, was just what they were needing. One holiday, made-to-order for weary, battle-fatigued rebels was in order.

Kanan had agreed…another startling phenomenon. If his draggy demeanor meant anything, the Jedi wasn't immune to exhaustion, either, like the rest of them. Even robust Zeb looked a bit saggy around the edges. Hera had mentioned that the ship needed a good overhaul, what with the extensive wear and tear outmaneuvering the Empire demanded of it. Yes, the _Ghost_ needed a vacation too. So the vote had been unanimous. Off to the planet of sublime delight they had gone.

Imperials didn't infest Arnow XI. A planetary cloaking device masked the globe in invisibility. Only savvy spacefarers knew of its existence.

In a word, this place was astounding…

Ezra had never seen the like. This garden paradise was the stark opposite of Lothal with its plush sprawls of exotic vegetation. He couldn't name any blossom, sprout or fruitage flourishing to distraction. The entire planet was designed for catering to divertissement. Diversions abounded as each member of the crew discovered. Hera, along with Kanan had gone off to see what sky-chasing was all about. Zeb, unable to decide if he wanted to try his hand at that, or explore some of the costal subterranean caves, finally settled on honing his scaling skills. The highest nearby elevation rose 20,000 feet above planetary sea level. That was a challenge he felt up for. He'd said he'd be back, eager to render a blow-by-blow run-down of the climb.

He'd asked for any takers for the quest to the summit, but his fellow rebels had left him hanging. There'd been a few muffled comments about his proposition was too akin to what they were trying to get some rest from. Strenuous activity. What was wrong with actively pursuing downtime?

"Guess it just leaves you and me." Ezra couldn't have been more pleased.

Sabine looked somewhat put out, but she brightened. Hanging out with her not so secret admirer was uncharted territory. Mentally shrugging, she smiled at Ezra, and went with the peaceful atmosphere of the balmy setting. "And Chopper," she tactfully reminded.

"Yeah, sure. But, I think Hera made it clear that Chopper remaining with the ship is the droid's responsibility." Better it be Chopper's than his. What a waste of being in such a great place, having to babysit the freighter with temperamental mechanization. Even the _Phantom_'s folding wings were acting up all too often lately, which spelled trouble during covert ops. The last operation had nearly been a catastrophe when the shuttle's topside aft laser cannon had misfired repeatedly.

Sabine's winsome face brightened even more as she bounced this idea off him. "I'm not leaving here without going for a swim. Either in the sea-green ocean, or in one of these freshwater lagoons." It had been ages since she'd slapped away water with her hands, slicing through it as she kicked.

"A swim?" Ezra tossed back, a hitch in his reply. There weren't many places on Lothal to take the plunge. There were seas of prairie, not much water. Lots of dust and dirt, but precious little H2O for diving into.

"Yeah. You know. Go for a dip." She'd been swimming since the age of two; her mother and her mom's brother, an aquatic-loving uncle, had taught her. All this had been way before the Empire had negatively impacted her kin.

What would she think of Ezra if she knew he didn't know how?

"What's wrong?" Sabine asked, gently raising an eyebrow.

"Uh, wrong? Nothing's wro—" Ezra frowned, hearing how sharp he sounded, cross. Beginning again, he shrugged. "I guess it'd be fun," he growled softly.

"I love swimming."

Well, since she did, he would go along. For her sake. Anything for Sabine, right? "Okay, then. Let's go…"

She wore the tasteful, although alluring suit underneath her sleek, colorful outfit. When she emerged from behind the thick canopy of vibrant flora, putting herself on modest display, Ezra struggled for breath. His preparedness for seeing Sabine wearing considerably less clothes was thoroughly inadequate. Beads of sweat pimpled his forehead. His throat was as dry as dead Loth-cat bones.

Not entirely clueless, she sweetly asked him, "Are you all right?"

Ezra, his face falling, willed himself to stand taller, demanding of himself to sound like a grown man. Or, at least fake it. He felt weak. "S-sure. I, I'm fine."

"You're probably not wearing a suit." Her delicate brow arched. "Most likely there's one your size back at the cabana," Sabine helpfully supplied, judging from his hesitant expression that he hadn't come prepared. She had sprung her suggestion on him after all.

"No. No, I'm not." Should he own up, or keep his lack of natation knowledge to himself?

Sabine finished tucking her clothes into the twin-zipper satchel she happened to produce with her first name written on it in her signature style. "I'll wait for you here. Hurry up. Get a move on. We'll head to the lagoon closest to the beach; it's not far."

He hesitated, but then decided suiting up would do no harm. Just as Sabine had predicted, he located swim togs that fit him. It wasn't long before he rejoined her and she put up a great front, not letting on that for a 14-year-old, he had a great build.

"Race ya," Sabine challenged, giggling girlishly, a wondrous sound.

"You're on!" Ezra erupted, taking her on with pleasure.

They sprinted off, Sabine leading. He gained until they were neck-in-neck, but she pulled away, leading the entire way on the level, well-groomed path. When they arrived at the lagoon, Sabine cast off the satchel, yelled at the top of her lungs, "Eire!" With hands up and with total abandon, she bounded upward, tucking her legs into her chest as her arms wrapped around them and cannonballed into the deep socket of shimmering iridescent water. When she came up, her hair scintillated, clinging to her bubbly face, her smile radiating over the water.

"You're the rotten egg!" she insisted.

Looking all kinds of dazed, Ezra had fallen well short of the body of enticing water. How deep was it, he wondered, fearing it was bottomless. A realization gradually nestled him in an awareness. Sabine wouldn't let him drown. Would she…

Like a real man, he confessed, "I can't swim."

"Oh?"

"Nope. Nobody ever taught me. My parents didn't know how either." His confidence in her kept building. "Is it hard? Could _you_ teach me?"

Already, having swum to him, Sabine nodded, extending her hand in welcome. "Not hard at all. I'll show you." Noting his loss of skepticism, she further encouraged, "Trust me. I'll have you slipping along like lu-fishes."

Lowering himself into the unknown, Ezra took her hand, losing himself in her assurances. Succeeding when he thought he was failing. Torque was with him. By the end of the day, she had him fearlessly diving into the lagoon, gliding underwater, proving to him that having faith in his abilities and the backing of a true friend surmounts the innermost fears.

All sealed with the lightest of kisses upon his cheek before the sun set. Tomorrow, they'd tackle the ocean. Together.


	4. Chapter 4

The wretched Empire had done it again! This evil horde with their smug hatred and dark ambitions had ruined things. And just when a helping hand had been extended, these villains had dislocated it. They'd disorganized his new family. They had bashed a big, gaping hole in it. Kanan was their prisoner, in their lethal clutches. He might even be dead. The Inquisitor relished murdering Jedi. The pale, grotesque Pau'an was aggressively maniacal about it. He embraced the dark side and the dark side rewarded him with unspeakable power. Power too bewildering to contemplate. Deranged dominance. Ezra, disheveled, sank deeper into his bunk, which seemed more like an abyss, his eyes fixed on the compartment's drab overlay, boring holes into it.

Tears, more tears still needing to be shed stung his eyes. He blinked rapidly to stave them off, but was unsuccessful. Too much pain was strangling his heart. Kanan-gone! What were they going to do now? Ezra rubbed at his eyes as though he would be successful blotting out the tears with his balled hands. First his parents, now Kanan. His pent-up tears overwhelmed his eyes, which were brutally swollen.

These quarters, which he hadn't emerged from in days since their failure, were what silence meant. He had not eaten at all, nor slept well. He had forgotten the meaning of resilience. He strained, trying to sense his kidnapped master. Was Kanan still breathing? Did he still have a pulse? Ezra's pulse throbbed in his neck. There was still so much to learn; so much he still lacked concerning knowledge of the Force. Kanan affectionately calling him 'padawan' echoed in Ezra's troubled, worn-down mind. He sobbed fitfully.

Was he giving up…on his new family? On life itself? All of them kept urging him: come on, snap out of it. We'll get him back. We need your help. We're in this together. Do it for Kanan! Well, he was trying, but so far, he wasn't cutting it. He couldn't get through to his mentor. He didn't know how. He wasn't good enough. Facing the reality that Kanan might very well be dead was too much.

He should have jumped to his defense when the Inquisitor had attacked his master. Foolhardy maybe, but it would have been better than choking down recriminations now. Reproaching himself for his lack of courage plagued him to no end. The big, black hole of despair was never letting him out. He knew that; accepted it. Raged against it still. Worrying a hangnail, he finally bit it off. The skin he tore it from began to bleed profusely. He stuck his index finger in his mouth and sucked.

The ragged tissue at the side of his nail began swelling almost instantaneously. He sucked harder. This sort of pain was easier to dominate.

Zeb had relinquished him, having decided to allow him to wallow in self-pity in peace. Well, almost. The big guy would lumber by, bam on the door several times, then go off, leaving Ezra to brood. Hera was a wellspring of wisdom and encouragement, but he'd chosen to ignore her. Even Chopper had been firing off servo-inspired advice, which too had gone unheeded.

Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

Sabine was the only one who'd had enough sense to just leave him be.

Tears flowed from his eyes. New cracks in his psyche appeared. His voice wobbled when he spoke. "K-Kanan, do you hear me? W-where are you? W-what are they doing to you? Are y-you all right?"

The void was voiceless. Ezra's heart sank to lower, untenable depths. Squirming, he shifted violently onto his left side, facing away from the shipboard room. Grief upon grief. Terrible news. Word had reached them, here on this backwater world. It had been reported that the Empire had taken what they'd done out on Lothal locals. Residents were being rounded up, interrogated, beaten and held for several days for no reason.

What a mess they'd made of so many things. So often thinking that they were invincible. Always right. Could do no wrong. No one was like that; not even Jedi.

Ezra silently yelled at himself at the top of his lungs: _None of this would have happened if we hadn't made that broadcast! I said it wasn't a good idea, but no one—no one listened! Now Kanan's gone. Probably dead. And we're lost—going nowhere! I can't take this. This not knowing what to do! It's all so wrong. It's all gone horribly wrong!_

A messy, insufferable mess!

Writhing, he doubled into himself and shook, weeping yet again. He cried out, begging for relief he believed was impossible to come. On the verge of convulsing uncontrollably, Ezra went stone still. _What was that sound?_ In the grim dimness of the dingy room, a strange warmth fanned out, over him, caressing. A calmer voice from within told him to leave the bunk and go to the door, instead of telling who was there to come in. Or, go away, as he'd forcefully been doing.

Not hesitating, Ezra obeyed. The warmth was beguiling, but felt so good, as his mind went blank.

_"Open the door…"_

And…when…he…did, there stood Sabine, glaring at him, but her glare was soft around its edges. She came bearing a tray laden with all manner of sustenance. This wasn't the routine foodstuffs from the ship's stores. She'd been to the local market, which she knew her way around.

The voice in his head was replaced by hers. "Finally," she murmured, brushing past him in a huff.

He thought to speak, but his head was way out of synch with his tongue. He opened his mouth, speechless. So, he promptly closed it lest she remark how silly he looked with his mouth hanging open.

She set the tray down on what passed for a table to invite, "I won't take no for an answer. You've got to eat something. Anything. Here it is. Practically everything I could lay my hands on. So get over here and start eating. Or I'll make you, Ezra Bridger!" The petite Mandalorian was spitfire incarnate when she got like this. "Don't even think of saying, 'I'm not hungry.'"

The glints in her eyes made it clear to him that Sabine meant business.

Instead of saying, 'I'm not hungry,' he replied, "What's all this?" Without thinking, he padded over to the supposed table, pulled up a storage crate and parked himself. He sprayed her with sheepish looks.

"You need to bathe," she snidely reported. She'd smelled worse often before, but she thought to let her opinion sink in. She knew, though she tried hiding it, that he took what she told him seriously. "But first—you eat!"

"What exactly is all this stuff?" He looked over the fare new to him, began picking at the spongy, sweet-smelling, fruity-looking item covered in down with his three-pronged utensil. It oozed juice when he stabbed it.

"Put in mouth, chew," Sabine abbreviated, handing her words to him as she would a blaster.

Reciprocating her being short with him, he snapped, "I thought you were different."

"Meaning?" Sabine, absorbing his attitude, knew what he was driving at. She took his annoyance in stride.

He stared off into space for a couple of seconds, feeling her fill up the room with her commanding presence. Then he groused, "Leaving me alone. You just have to be like the rest. Pestering me." No sooner had this spate of protestation left his mouth, he regretted having said it. If she didn't care, she wouldn't have bothered. _She must care about you, _sang out in his head. Is this the thanks she gets? Treating her like crap? Before Sabine, looking surly could reply, he crammed in, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

Taking it on the chin, she shrugged. "Dig in. I've got to—"

"Don't go," he appealed, sounding broken, about to be cast off. "Eat with me."

"Ezra, I've—"

"I won't eat a bite unless you stay." Spoken like a true emotional blackmailer.

She dropped down beside him since the crate was large enough to seat two. "Oh, okay. But just long enough to see that you eat most of what's here." She helped herself to a _clozy_. A type of spiced meat encased in coarse dough before being fried. "Go on then. I haven't got all day." She had intel to check out, alone. Intel that might lead them to Kanan. But she didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. Especially Ezra's.

Surprised that she had chosen to sit next to him, he cracked, "You recommended I bathe. Remember?"

"I'm not spending the rest of the day with you. _You_ remember," she gently retorted, nudging him in the ribs with her slender elbow. She watched him begin, eating a little at a time until he was eating with as much zest as Zeb, whose appetite never needed whetting. _Ravenous_, Sabine thought smugly and was reminded of an old saying from her homeworld...'eat for the hunger that comes.'

He hadn't felt this calm in days and Ezra wished she didn't have to go anywhere for quite some time. That she might stay long after he finished his last unforgettable bite, along with making him forget that Kanan was never coming back.

Sabine eyed him before uttering a word. In time she said, "I have another surprise."

Perking up a bit more, he responded, "Yeah? Like what?"

Before she rose, she carefully answered, "You'll see." And Ezra, looking as perplexed as before, had no chance to press her further. Hurriedly, she primed her surprise with one smaller, marking the spot on his sallow cheek with her stealthy eyes, aiming her lips at it. She kissed him, her cagy eyes dancing. Ezra yelped and jumped at the same time. "Finish up," Sabine stipulated, her voice husky, upon rising to a stalwart stance.

"If you're going somewhere, I'll go with you," Ezra insisted, his wealth of feeling sorry for himself lessening.

"Not this time, Bridger. It's better this is handled the way it's been outlined. Like I said, finish your food. I'll fill you in later."

He didn't like the idea of her tackling something that could prove risky on her own, but she'd practically handed him an ultimatum. She was feisty, stubborn and the most unpredictable girl he'd ever known. Not that he'd known that many girls. Not too long ago, girls were on his 'ick' list. Of course, that was when he was at that age when most boys thought the worst about girls. Pretty ones like Sabine drew him like gadflies to sugary goodies these days.

"Whatever you're up to, be careful," he imposed.

"Hera and I, and certainly Zeb, plan to."

So...she wasn't off to wherever all by herself. The rest of the crew was back-up. Ezra rested easier.

Then, as though an afterthought, she added, "It does me good to see you eat like that."

Would she give him another little kiss on the cheek if he asked? He still hadn't quite recovered from the first one, having coming out of the blue as it had.

"Sabine?"

Before she reached the door, she swung around. "Yeah?"

"Think Kanan's still alive?" His question hurt his throat, locking his jaw.

She walked back to Ezra and with a sigh, leaned down, getting right into his face. "Let's stay positive about that. Right?" As he finished nodding, she brushed his other cheek with her softer than soft lips. "Take that as a yes. See ya, Bridger. I won't be long. Promise."

Once she'd left him alone, he snapped out of his dazed stupor to burble, "S-see ya. And thanks..."

He'd eaten more than he should have, but somehow it just felt right. Exactly like it had during the swimming lesson and as he smiled to himself and rose, he headed for the 'fresher. He owed her being squeaky clean the next time they were together.


	5. Chapter 5

Ezra glared down at the lounge couch, its fabric worn, but smooth to his touch. His hand twitched as he picked at the tufts in the material. Pitching forward, he leaned down, like a hunchback, burying his hands in his hair. Creeping fingers wound his hair into whorls. He held his breath for as long as he could. He was getting better with this, holding his breath longer each time. His chest rested against his long, lean thighs. He closed his eyes. He concentrated, bent on communing with Kanan. He had not been able to do so for a while. Not since they'd embarked upon this rescue mission, with Hera fully onboard with the attempt.

Kanan…

He could not be dead, or they wouldn't be making this trip. The enemy would not waste its time with a dead body. Preoccupation with this thought was a mainstay of hope. The faster they got to him, the better chance they had of making off with him intact.

Squeezing his eyes even tighter shut, Ezra endeavored to put into practice his master's instructions. Pivotal words of guidance chimed in his head. His brow furrowed. Another word kept getting in the way, interfering with his resolve.

_Mustafar_…

The name of the place where it was touted that Jedi went to die had managed to worm its way into every recess of his tormented mind. The fiery world's reputation never gave him a moment's peace, unceasingly jerking him around.

Disoriented, he straightened up, shaking his head as though it were a ragdoll's. At least doing this released some of his stiffness and tension, which kept ratcheting up. And up, and up, and up. Pain killers worked fine for physical aching. The ache he had would only be cured when they had Kanan back.

Ezra, although knowing he should, couldn't bring himself to go back to Zeb's and his quarters. He wasn't all that sure Zeb wanted him back in with him. Ezra wasn't the easiest person to live with these days, what with his moody outbursts and surly behavior. Not to mention wreaking havoc with Orrelios' sleep. The Lesat, although not known for being a light sleeper, had thrown him out any number of times, dead set on getting needed sleep in peace.

This old couch never complained. Never berated him for flailing his arms and legs savagely against its padding. What little there was of it, in the furnishing's scruffy condition. Hera's ship couldn't help showing its age, what with all the wear and tear it received. The lounge couch never cared how loudly, and how often Ezra cried out in anguish, in the throes of a vicious nightmare. Beating it down as he feverishly worked to free his master from the Empire's coldblooded, heartless minions.

His face contorted and he thought:

_Mustafar_…

"You in here again?" His clipped affectation permeated her short and sweet delivery. The trim gal regarded him in compassion. She had begun running out of ideas just how to lift his spirits. Cheering him up had somehow become a full-time job.

Ezra, although knowing who it was, didn't bother looking up from the position he'd reassumed. The sweet musk of Sabine filled his nose, driving him to distraction. One welcomed. The gentle tonality of her voice worked its wile, stilling his thoughts that easily had their way of spiraling out of control. He needed Kanan back in his life something fierce. Her shoulder to cry on wasn't some shabby swap, though.

He nodded in answer, knowing that his verbal response would sound miserable. His dark frame of mind, highly depressive in scope, smoldered. He wanted her to leave him alone, although he didn't want that, deep down. She was offering him her consideration, who was he to rebuff it? Torn up inside, Ezra whiffled. Would it bother her if he remained silent? The silence was deafening, even in his own ears. This was hard for him. He needed, shook with want, but he carried on as though he were stone. An island unto himself. Familiar territory, but unsatisfying.

He squelched his tears, behaving as though they'd never formed in the first place. _Shake it off_. Babies cried; he was no baby. Though still young, he had taken on the responsibilities of a man. He vowed he would be one, come what may.

Sabine expected it; they all did.

By this time, she had dropped down beside him on the couch with a slight _plop_. The quiet didn't seem to bother her, as Ezra supposed. She chatted blithely on. "Hear that?"

This time, he shrugged, still hugging his knees. Words were forming, but his mouth wasn't ready to uncork them.

"That's your bunk calling your name. It misses you."

"Zeb doesn't," Ezra croaked.

Sabine kept her sigh quiet. "Can we not talk about him right now. And just concentrate on you?"

Instead of shrugging again, he muttered, "O…" He sighed heavily. "Kay."

"Your Dreams're pretty bad, huh?" Sabine, asked, easing into the touchy subject.

"The worst." With deliberate purpose, Ezra began uncoiling himself. The least he could do was come to a correct sitting position for her sake. Gazing into her eyes, drinking in their flawless luster never did him any harm.

Sabine fell silent then. Looking inward, contemplative. She cared for him, despite her cold-fish exterior she unfailingly displayed. Covertly, she'd begun nurturing these perplexing feelings skirring within her. He had toned down the overweening roustabout to emerge as someone she could respect. Perhaps even love, in time. These feelings were still all too new. She needed more time to get used to them. Being on her own for as long as she'd been had fine-tuned her self-reliance. A flint-like work of art.

She was Sabine Wren, the artistic weapons expert, an integral part of their well-oiled machine, this ragtag rebel faction based on Lothal. And now, she was seeing herself as this kid's close, treasured friend. As naturally as breathing, she slipped her arm about his shoulders, wreathing them. She forced her smile to permeate her eyes as he looked deeply into them.

"Can you talk about your dreams?" she softly spoke.

"These nightmares, one in particular… It's like we're almost about to rescue Kanan. Then up pops the Inquisitor, blocking my getting to Kanan. The Inquisitor is goading me. Challenging me to fight him. If I don't, Kanan and I-we both die. Then before I can do, or say anything, we're fighting high over the fires of Mustafar. On some invisible platform. It's so hot, I can't see straight. The Inquisitor has got Kanan locked tight in a Force cage. There's no way he can get out…"

"You think this'll happen?" Sabine inquired, as calmly as her feeling would allow.

Ezra crumpled, visibly shaken. "I don't know. I don't know. Kanan would explain it better than I, if he were here. Much of all this Force business is too new for me. I'm not sure if I'll ever really understand it all." He slumped against her.

Sabine, not saying much, could empathize. As was the case with Ezra and the Force, so too it was with her and her evolving feelings for this jittery apprentice. The hold she had of him firmed. "You know enough. Enough to get our honcho and friend back."

Still remaining an issue for him, Ezra queried, "You think so?" It stank, feeling this feckless.

Sabine's ungloved hand smoothed over his thigh. "I know so."

The verve interlaced with sincerity of her faith jolted him. "B-but why? How? How can you be so sure?"

A change came over her, one impossible to miss. One that went straight to his heart. "Because I'm getting to know you. And I like what I see…" Thoughtfully, Sabine, as though she'd been doing it for years, ran her free hand through his hair.

_If this is a dream, this better not be the Inquisitor_, raced through Ezra's mind_. Not a dream, not a dream_ repeated all the while as she drew her face closer to his in cozy cheek-to-cheek proximity. Next he thought: _If anyone interrupts this, I'll Force them out_.

His heart pounded through his suit. Anticipation was a glowing ember in his belly. All of her nuances took on newer meaning. Sabine was everything, at once. He felt his throat tighten, filling with pressure locked in. Along with his jaw, also feeling the strain.

"I like very much," Sabine purred, blowing tiny draughts of air along his quivering jaw line.

This dream, if in truth it was one, was shaping reality. Such a lovely way this was to salve his emotional wounds. His voice finally emerged from his tight throat, it was a macerated squeak. "I l-like you too." What he should do? Be passive, or meet her halfway? "Very much, I mean."

The Ghost's confines blurred as though vertigo had set in, when Sabine stroked her thumb over the boyish flesh of his lips. His neck's nape prickled. Ezra had the feeling he must be looking perpetually startled as Sabine puckered her lips. Mirroring her, Ezra did the same with his. She sketched one of his cheekbones with a hovering finger, then an ancient dimpled scar near the corner of an eye. There was longing in her eyes, he unobjectively assumed.

That went for his eyes too.

Wisely, he kept quiet, not wishing to spoil it for himself. Nor for her as well. She was doing great, taking the initiative.

Sensing what she was doing might not be what he wanted, she whispered, "I won't bite."

"That goes for me too." He thought to say: 'Proceed." But it sounded ludicrous to his inner ear.

Still, her lips made no contact.

"Uh…Sabine?" She smiled an unconvincing description of a smile. Ezra was used to seeing a sudden sadness huddling within her magical brown eyes. Observing it crouching there sparked a twanging pang. "Are you all right?" he petitioned.

"Are you?" After she kissed him full on his mouth, she huskily continued with a whisper. "Much better, now."

"D-does th-this mean-"

"It means you're going to get through this. All of us will as long as we stick together."

Ezra truly agreed, going in for a bit more of Sabine's confidence-building.

Deciding not to hold back, Sabine gratefully obliged, pouring even more emotion into her ministrations. Ezra gave better than she gave, this time around. In his eager embrace, Sabine easily recognized that he wasn't new to kissing. She wasn't a flirt.

But she knew talent when she kissed one who had it.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Sorry about the updating lapses. But, I thank everyone who's read and reviewed. All your thoughts are valuable to me. They spur me on. Thanks so much.

* * *

><p>"Hold still!"<p>

After jiggling his face, she paused, pursing her lips, treating him as if he had reverted to a two-year-old. In the back of her mind, the thought tapped that he was younger than she.

He trained his eyes on those sensuous lips, spellbound. "I am holding still!" he squeezed through his lips pressed together. What would happen if he suddenly broke his face out of her firm grasp, swept her into his arms, kissing her until she gasped for air?

"No you're not—just like the last time." Sabine smirked, her wiseacre facial expression driving her point home. These twin wounds were deeper, nastier than those sustained a while back. "You're even more fidgety this time around. How do you expect a work of art to grace your face for a while if it turns out all squiggly?" She'd fix his face, her cream would make it as good as new, just like the last time. She'd save his face, again because she could, unthinkable that she wouldn't want to. His cute mug was far too unique to be beat-up, defaced. That adorable face of his, which she had begun to treasure.

She hadn't come right out, telling him that. Not that first time. She hadn't been where she was now, caring about him. Wanting things for him to turn out well.

Ezra settled down, quietly admitting that she was right. Her cream she'd used on him before had worked wonders, having prevented that initial facial wound from scarring. As Sabine worked on his face, carefully applying the sweet-smelling ointment artistically, he took in the sedate elegance of her quarters. He liked being in here with her, grateful to her for her concern and the way she was applying her soothing, miraculous emollient.

"I really liked what you did to the tie-fighter," Ezra gushed, suddenly thinking that he should say something complimentary about her bold creativity. Whether it be with pattern and designs or pulse charges and laying down defensive fire. "You're not gonna believe this, but I overheard one of the bucket-heads say he liked it too." Under his breath, he breathed, "Through the Force."

"Maybe there's hope for some of them yet," Sabine chided, concentrating as she put the finishing touches on the broader of the two wounds. Ezra kept a straight face while watching her fixate on her handiwork with her tongue out as though sensing the air with it.

_She's the prettiest girl I've ever known_…Ezra couldn't help think; when he dreamed, Sabine was never absent. _Does she like me as much as I'm crazy about her_?

He thought hard about his feelings, wondering if she might sense them.

Abruptly, Sabine added, "Ahsoka Tano is _Fulcrum_. How come you didn't know that before she told us?" A mental image of the mysterious hooded Togrutan crowded into Sabine's mind, dwarfing her thoughts. At the same time, Sabine stood back to admire her latest artistic accomplishment before attacking the second wound lying beneath the one superior. "Well? How come?"

"Like I've been training to be a Jedi my whole life," he spluttered. Ezra wanted to get a look at what she'd done so far, but, eyeing the dingy mirror lodged in one of the inset panels in her little room, he held off. With a shrug and sounding resigned, he replied, "I don't know. There's a lot I don't know. Like you can't tell? When I was out cold, lying on the lower platform as Kanan and the Inquisitor fought, the rush of so many voices hummed in my mind. They confused me, until eventually I came around. Got me back to where I saw him break the Inquisitor."

"I only know what you tell me," Sabine crisply admitted, stepping in closer again to tackle the other injury, already lightly scabbed. What Ezra had told her so far only made more questions abound. He'd come a long way, but it was as he truthfully acknowledged. There was still so much he must learn before he could truly be called Jedi.

She embellished his wound with the cream while Ezra pondered over what Tano had uttered about his having a greater destiny. Whatever this "greater destiny" was, he knew that it had to include his new family. He wasn't making a move without them. Certainly not without Sabine, this polished new 'apple of his eye,' first and foremost. He wanted no part of a future that excluded her. Despite Kanan's frequent mentioning that Jedi weren't expected to form attachments, Ezra felt sure that there had to be exceptions to that inflexible rule, belonging to another time. A time bygone and terribly long ago.

He and Hera were certainly attached. Weren't they?

As though she'd read his mind, Sabine broached, "Guess you'll be heading out with Fulcrum to fulfill your greater destiny. The one she says lies before you." She mussed up his hair, a playful gesture, to mask her true feelings. She'd miss him more than she could openly admit. But maybe she needed to be more open. Allow what she felt for Ezra greater leeway. If he knew what she really felt for him, maybe he'd stay. Stay with her and this diversified collection of brave souls and one indispensable feisty droid. The tentative tone of her voice remained. "You owe it to yourself and the resistance to be the biggest, most powerful, most indomitable—"

Ezra silenced Sabine, snagging her hand, coaxing it away from his scalp. Thoughtfully, he considered she'd never played with his hair before. Shock and sorrow mingled on his countenance, his pout gloriously-decorated by the brash rebel who'd stolen his heart down to its cockles. Bringing her hand to his lips, he murmured, "You couldn't drag me away. Not even if Fulcrum ordered I be bound at the ankles to twin-engine landspeeders, tearing me away. Not from you. Never from you." His hammering heart beat harder. "You've got me." Said with such poignancy in his words and on his face.

Trying to sound snide, but failing by a mile, Sabine insinuated, "Meaning, I'm stuck." Her cool composure showed signs of detaching. "_W-we're_ stuck with you." Ezra's eyes lit up, believing that he'd heard how shook she'd sounded.

"It's mutual. I'm stuck on you. Sabine, I admit it. I started out on the wrong foot with you. I know that. But, I'm not the same clueless kid who thought he could impress you by being an annoying brat. That guy's wised up thanks to Hera, Kanan. Yeah, Zeb too. And of course gritty Chopper." His voice dropping, deepening, Ezra confessed, "Thanks to you most of all, _Sabine_. You are so incredibly amazing. I'll never be able to thank you enough for all you've done."

Suppressing the sudden rush of tears standing in her eyes, Sabine accorded, "I do what I think is right. At least I try to."

"You never miss."

Sabine glanced away from him, seeming suddenly shy. The second wound bore her signature work, and satisfied, she began walking off to clean the bright silkiness from her talented hands. She might have made it to the shelf where she kept her cleansers if it hadn't been for Ezra's mad scramble. Standing in her way, he determined that he'd had enough of beating around the bush.

"All done. Time to clean up." She tried moving around him, averting her eyes from his. Quite certain that if she looked into his eyes too long, she'd fall under their weird spell and his.

He hustled, again placing himself smack in her way. "Sabine, there's something I've got to say before I tell myself I shouldn't say anything."

His serious, more grown-up tone took her by surprise. All at once, this wasn't 'the kid' in her way. This was a man. The very same man who'd unabashedly admitted that he didn't know how to swim. He'd never learned.

And she had taught him…

"What then? What is it?"

The jitters seized him, but his being in the grip of uncertainty was fleeting. "Sabine?"

"Ezra?"

His hand found hers, slightly larger than his, yet finer. Their fingers braided of their own accord it seemed. Tentatively, he drew her to himself; amazingly, she didn't resist. Just like in his many sugarplum dreams. "I. I…" He shut his eyes, unable to find just the right words. Berating himself because he didn't know the ones she deserved to hear. And even if he did, they'd come out wrong. Whom was he kidding? Who was he to think she'd ever feel the same about him as he did for her? He was Ezra Bridger…just another street punk fresh off the streets of Lothal. He was training to be a Jedi, but that didn't change what he'd come from.

He wasn't good enough for her. Never would be. This 'thing' he wanted to be in with her ended now. He let go of her hand, started walking away, hanging his head.

Sabine lunged, pulling his head in so his lips crashed against hers. Her laughter gurgled deep in her throat, delightful to his ears. He fought to breathe. His mind swam the way it did when the Force thrummed through him. _The Ghost_ tilted on its axis when the girl of his dreams whispered against his tongue, "We're in this together. You and me. Don't you ever forget that, K-." She couldn't say it. That wasn't what he was, not anymore. "Ezra, my Jedi lover…"

Dumbstruck, he imprisoned her in his arms, holding her with all his might, despite his hard time with breathing normally. "May the Force be with _us_."

"The way you're holding me, you're the," Sabine jibed, her tone of voice all too familiar, "Force. Of course, of course. Where would we be without the Force?" Nimbly, with youthful buoyance, she wrestled him to the deck, proving to him that she was a force to be reckoned with in her own right.


End file.
